


Hard Feelings

by FunnyWings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fed!Cas, Witness Protection, ex-criminal Meg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunnyWings/pseuds/FunnyWings
Summary: Meg's bargained her way out of a life of crime and into WitSec, but with the caveat that she has to deal with a fed living with her to make sure she doesn't run before she testifies. Cas is strange, but maybe he's growing on her.





	Hard Feelings

“Do you even like me?”

What a question to ask, Meg thought to herself, grimacing at the man she’d agreed to live with “for her own safety”. Last she checked, WitSec didn’t provide live in bodyguards. She’d smelled something off about it since they stuck the guy with her. It didn’t take a genius to figure out no one actually saw her as all that reliable a witness, no matter how valuable she was to them.

As far as they were all concerned, a change in the wind and she’d be running off back to Luke, and giving up the immunity she’d bargained so heavily for. They, of course, didn’t (couldn’t) know that Luke was just this side of dead and the people lining up to replace him didn’t much like his “too smart for her own good” right hand. Loyalty was something Meg could have in spades if the conditions were right, but she’d never lost the self preservation she’d learned in all the hardest ways imaginable.

“Oh Clarence, what’s not to like?” she muttered sarcastically. Her very own guardian angel (emphasis on guard) wasn’t big on the small talk, and these were among the very few words he’d said to her aside from his name (Cas) and that he was going to be staying with her for the foreseeable future. Meg looked over the paperwork they had set her up with and raised an eyebrow at Cas, who seemed to understand well enough to hand over the identity they’d picked out for him.

“Who’s Clarence?” he asked eventually. Meg ignored him, not expecting him to get her private joke anyway.

“Morgan and Cassidy Novak,” she said slowly, looking at the two IDs. “Happily married one year now, and looking for a fresh start in a small town. That’s the story right?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed, wooden and unhelpful as ever. Meg looked down at her little lifeline, the one thing keeping her safe from the likes of Abby or Crowley if they ever stopped fighting long enough to get around to looking for her so they could have a little fun ripping her teeth out one by one.

“Can’t believe they saddled me with such a chatty Cathy,” said Meg, because that was easier to focus on than thinking about how shaky this brand new start for her was.

“It’s Cas actually,” said the man blandly, and Meg almost rolled her eyes in dismay before she caught a twitch at the corner of his eye and realized he was fucking with her.

“So you have a sense of humor after all,” she said, smiling at him wryly. “Good to know.”

Unpacking took half the night, and after a few sharp warnings, Cas figured out he shouldn’t try helping with any of her things. She had more than a few weapons well hidden in the personal items WitSec had cleared her to keep (not knowing about the weapon part, obviously). She was hoping she could pass this off as sentimentality, but the way Cas looked suspiciously at every other item of furniture made it clear she couldn’t count on him not finding at least some of the various knives she’d made sure she had at her disposal. Just in case.

After that, she still couldn’t quite convince herself to sleep, all her senses dialed up to eleven because rule one of not dying is you never put yourself at a disadvantage with a stranger. Maybe Cas knew that, or maybe her resident hired muscle was just bored, because he turned on the television and lowered the volume to a hum.

It was about two minutes before she ended up sitting next to him and watching with him.

It was some kind of crummy talk show, where everyone aired there dirty laundry about each other while a gleeful host took advantage in the name of pretending to be helping people. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him when he visibly sighed as a young couple found out they had both been cheating on each other in front of a gasping live studio audience.

“Really?” she asked. Cas’ attention snapped to her in an instant. Holy fucking reflexes, she thought, mildly amused.

“What?”

“You,” said Meg, while pointing towards the television screen. Yeah, yeah, mixed signals. “You have to know the kind of people they get for these shows. Dramatic, awful people that fuck with each other because they can’t help it. And the host parades them around for the audience to laugh at and feel better about themselves.”

Cas looked back at the television.

“That’s not how I see it.”

“Okay then, and how do you see it, Cassidy Novak? If that’s even your real name.”

“It’s not my real name,” he said. He sat thoughtfully for a few seconds before continuing. “I think that these are people who want to fix parts of themselves, and are trying any way they can. And every once in a while, a show like this helps. Distance can be clarifying.”

“An optimist,” Meg muttered to herself. “You’re in the wrong line of work, pal.”

Cas either didn’t hear this, or didn’t think it was worth responding to. Either way, Meg sat where she was and watched the reruns of his wretched show until the sun came up and her eyes got too heavy for her to even pretend to pay attention anymore.

It wasn’t until she woke up later, curled up alone on the couch and saw a sandwich on a plate on the small table in front of her that she realized she must have fallen asleep. She frowned at it, wondering what fucking angle this guy was playing.

Then she decided she was too hungry to care, and if her fake husband wanted to make her sandwiches, he could do so. Didn’t mean shit, but hey… free labor.

Under the plate was a note that said Cas had business to take care of, and would be back later and a reminder that Meg had to stay inside until they’d sufficiently altered her appearance. Meg shuddered as she remembered the suggestion one gloating Victor Henrikson had made to her when he figured out her hair was a point of vanity for her.

“Why not bleach it?” he’d asked, like that wasn’t an invitation for her to punch him in the mouth. Suffice to say, it hadn’t gone down well, and Meg had resisted all attempts at convincing her that changing her appearance was the best way to keep her safe. If her enemies were going to find her, they were going to find her with her dignity left in tact.

Cas seemed to have a different opinion on that, considering he came home with bleach, hair dye, and scissors, along with the shit ton of groceries he had bought by himself. He almost smiled when he looked at it all, like he’d never seen so much food in one place and couldn’t quite believe it.

Meg wondered if he’d grown up hungry like she had. She didn’t ask.

“Did you leave any for everyone else?” she asked him, managing to earn a slightly sheepish look from Mr. Undercover. He began putting things away methodically, asking her questions every once in a while about what she liked to eat. He stopped after the fifth time she’d answered by saying “Food.”

Meg, meanwhile, took advantage of Cas’ preoccupation with making sure the cans of soup in their pantry were grouped together by type and then alphabetized to throw out anything that could be used against her hair. Hey, she’d never claimed she wasn’t petty.

***

It took three days of passive aggressively refusing to change her appearance before Cas gave up. At that point, the neighbors had already started knocking on their doors, so it wasn’t like it mattered anymore anyway.

Most of the neighborly hellos were dealt with in Meg’s less than charming but technically polite way, and the people were sent on their way. Not so for their next door neighbors Bess and Garth Fitzgerald. No, they seemed to not only be unable to take a hint, but apparently had no concept of what a hint was. The only redeeming feature of this development was that Cas was just as unsettled as Meg was.

Garth was a hugger, and Meg and Cas had both had a lot of experience in not letting other people get physically close enough to injure you. Different lines of work, but same concerns.

Meg would step up her bitch game to drive them away, but they bring her and Cas home cooked meals every other day (“because we had extra, and you guys must be so busy just moving in and all!”) and although Cas is good for a decent sandwich, actually cooking is beyond him.

And then they got invited over to dinner, and Meg wished she’d just told them to fuck off. Except now, Cas had gotten it into his head that it would draw attention to them if they were actively unfriendly. Normal people have friends, he’d assured her. As if he would know. Meg half suspected some days he had been as sheltered from human decency as she had, if the way he seemed to romanticize it all was any indication. Seeing good in everyone is another name for asking to have your heart broken on repeat ad infinitum.

Still, here Meg was playing dress up with a stranger to impress other strangers in a stupid game that may or may not cost her her life if she plays it wrong.

“Can you help me with the zipper?” she called to the other room. She was standing in front of a mirror in a dress she never would have bought for herself in a million years and it was all such a joke she would have laughed if she thought that once she started she would ever be able to stop.

Cas knocked before he came in, zipped the dress up respectfully, and then left again. Sometimes Meg wondered if he was more shadow than person. Most of the time it’s like he’s trying to take up no space at all.

Bess welcomed them in warmly, making all the usual comments. They’d taken about two steps into the house before they were tripping over little humans and Meg’s heart was in her throat because she did not sign up for a dinner with kids.

She tried glaring at Cas for omitting this important piece of information, only to find him kneeling next to the five year old and listening attentively to a five year expound on how he wanted to be a space pirate or a werewolf when he grew up.

“Hey hubby,” Meg snarked, getting Cas’ attention. “Don’t you have some grown up juice you got for our friends here?”

“Oh, right,” Cas said, standing up and passing Bess the wine he’d insisted they should bring. Then he walked to the kitchen with the three year old attached to one of his legs while the boy’s older brother started trying to babble at Meg.

“Bess,” Meg said as soon as she got to the kitchen. “Think I could have anything alcoholic?”

“You’re not really a kid person are you?” Bess said, smiling but not unsympathetic. “My sister’s like that. Next time we’ll set up a playdate, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Meg took the glass of wine Bess poured for her and drank a swallow. She was surprised Bess hadn’t started giving her a lecture about why she should appreciate kids and “she’d think differently about it when she had some of her own” like the other few people who’d figured out she didn’t get a warm fuzzy feeling when babies were mentioned.

“Thanks,” she said. Bess nodded and asked Meg if she wanted to help finishing Garth and her with dinner while Cas tired the kids out, and Meg accepted gratefully.

By the time the casserole (because of course it was a casserole) and bread and vegetables, and freaking bread pudding (who the fuck were they trying to impress?) were set on the table, Cas had somehow managed to have his tie stolen and the older of the two kids was wearing it as a bandana of sorts. Cas had a grin so wide, Meg wondered where the hell it had been hiding the past week and half.

And then they ate dinner.

“So what do you two do for a living?” asked Garth, eager as a puppy. Meg considered telling him the extent of her crimes, just to see the expression on his face.

“Morgan is going to be working at city hall,” said Cas. “I’m an accountant.”

“Do you like your work?” asked Bess, smiling curiously.

“It pays the bills,” Meg said, because she actually didn’t hate it at City Hall. She got a bunch of calls each day from angry people she could shout back at. Her supervisor treated her like she was a godsend, and every once in a while someone who wasn’t an idiot would call in and Meg would take notes and hand it in. So sue her, she was trying to be a better person.

“I find numbers soothing,” said Cas. It was probably true too, Meg thought as she side eyed him.

“Garth and I work at the hardware store,” said Bess. “It’s where we met.”

“Workplace romance, huh?” said Meg, almost laughing at Garth’s suddenly bashful expression.

“She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on,” he said, smiling at Bess. “And she helped me through a hard time or two in the meantime.”

“How’d you two meet?” asked Bess.

They hadn’t actually covered that one.

“Childhood sweethearts,” Meg lied in a breath. “He was very shy.”

Cas nodded along, looking grateful for not having had to think on his feet for that one. He fumbled slightly for Meg’s hand, as his contribution to the hopeless sham that was their fake marriage. The Fitzgeralds seemed to believe it at least.

So there was that.

***

It was three a.m. and Meg’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She swore at herself, and the panic that tore through her as she listened and listened and wondered when the hell they would be coming.

Sure, she could pretend sometimes that Crowley and Abby had bigger fish to fry (namely each other) but the idea that they didn’t have someone after her was laughable. And here she was living next door to the two most sickeningly nice people she’d ever met, who she and Cas went on bowling with every other weekend, along with their friends from the hardware store Jesse and Cesar Cuevas. It was all so normal and sometimes Meg just wanted to scream.

And in the middle of the night it was too quiet. Just the soft hum of the tv that Cas kept on while he slept on the couch, and even that muffled through the door Meg always kept closed between them. It was about five minutes before she smashed a vase from her bed side table on the floor, picked up the knife hidden in it (one of the few Cas hadn't been able to find, the smug bastard) and threw it so it sunk deep into the wall.

Moments later, Cas burst through the door, gun raised and eyes wild. He froze when he saw nothing but Meg, glaring at nothing and shaking. He left and came back again, no longer armed.

“Are you alright?”

“I hate it here,” Meg said quietly. “I hate the people and I hate this house and I hate you and I hate how fucking quiet it is.”

Cas frowned at her, a small amount of hurt making it through his concern.

“They could send someone else,” he told her. “If you’re uncomfortable with me, they could send you with someone else, somewhere else.”

“Giving up on me that easy, Clarence?” asked Meg. His frown deepened and he sighed.

“What do you want from me?” he asked at last. Meg shrugged and actual frustration seemed to leak through his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Meg said, which wasn’t an answer. “I don’t hate you. It’s just too quiet. You always know the worst part is coming when it gets too quiet.”

Cas nodded stiffly and took Meg’s hand again, something he had never done in private. Meg didn’t say anything about it.

***

Four months in, and one month before the trial when the news came.

Luke was dead. Meg’s testimony was still relevant because the criminal case was to bring down more than just him, but she was nowhere near as important as they thought she was going to be.

Cas didn’t judge her for spending the whole day silent, and in a strange reversal of their normal roles, he filled in the silence with chatter. Meg thought she might have heard him talk more that day than she had in the preceding three months living with him.

He chattered about the importance of animals to the world in general and the effect global warming was having on foreign turtle populations. He chattered about different cases he had been assigned to and hinted at a sort of fall from grace within whatever department of the government he’d been working in (which made sense considering they’d stuck him with watching her for months on end). He talked about all of the stories he’d read to Walter and Alexander Fitzgerald, and which ones he liked best. He talked about books he’d read and little remembered childhood stories about his father.

It filled up the space between them until Meg could hardly think about her grief or anger or fear and instead all she could think about was that she knew a good way to shut her fake husband up.

Maybe she kissed him because she liked him, or maybe she kissed him to spite him. She wasn’t one to overanalyze her small moments of insanity. It was a day she spent pushed past her limits and she just wanted to do something about how fucking helpless she felt in the face of waiting for her death to catch her now that the last person who even gave a fuck if she was alive or dead had kicked the bucket.

She didn’t really expect, even in the half second she’d had to consider what a stupid idea kissing him was, that he would kiss her back.

But then hands were in her hair and he was leaning in like he was fucking starving for her. Meg slipped her tongue past his teeth, and almost laughed to herself when she could practically feel him go weak at the knees.

Then of course he had to go and remember himself. He backed up so fast, he almost tripped over the dumb couch he slept on every night. Meg watched him, arms crossed and wondering what he was going to say about it.

“That can’t happen again,” he said, all calm before the storm and steely will. Then he marched to the closet, put on his jacket and marched right out the door for “a walk”.

So it’s like that, Meg thought to herself. Like she cared.

***

It happened again. And again and again.

It was like a dam had broken and Meg suddenly realized that she hadn’t really been able to touch anyone in a long time, and now that she could it was addicting. She never made the first move, always teased and poked and prodded until Cas’ will crumbled.

“I won’t tell anyone, you know,” Meg had said one day when Cas had once again told her they wouldn’t be taking it any farther than making out. “If you’re worried about getting in trouble.”

“After the trial is over, they’ll move you again,” he’d told her. “And I won’t be there. You know that.”

“Well good. Maybe then I can get laid without blowing my cover,” Meg had snarked back to him. He frowned. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that Meg might just want anyone to sleep with. If anything he looked less enthused with that interpretation than his apparent previous belief that she just liked him that much.

Garth was the first one to notice something off between them, and he had started trying to pry why out of Meg, in his too friendly and too damn curious way.

“Just a fight,” Meg had said, efficiently shutting down further questioning.

Bess too tried to get in on it, and Meg knew for a fact that Garth had set Cesar on Cas to try to help with their relationship.

As annoying as it was, Meg knew it came from a place of love, which was the most disturbing thing of all. She wondered if they’d worry so much about her if they knew just how many deaths she’d had a hand in. Because she wasn’t Morgan Novak, respectable woman with a respectable job and a respectable husband.

When you really thought about it, she wasn’t anyone at all. Just a piece in a puzzle that no one was trying to put together anymore. Useless in everything except keeping herself alive, and maybe not even that.

***

They came for her two weeks before the trial she was supposed to testify at.

Meg wondered if Crowley sent his men as soon as he figured out where she was, or if he’d known all along and was trying to lull her into a false sense of security. It turned out he’d won whatever game he and Abaddon had been playing, and he finally had time now to make her pay for the hand she’d had in making his life miserable after he tried to betray Luke.

He wasn’t subtle about it either. Meg wondered what the neighbors must have thought when they saw a van of fully armed henchmen pull up in front of their house and storm their way in. Cas had his gun pointed at them in a second and he and Meg pushed over the table and hid behind it as a fire fight broke out.

Of course, Cas only had so many bullets. Meg counted them down as he shot and didn’t like the odds one bit.

“Wait!” Meg shouted over the sounds of guns going off. “I’m going to guess Crowley wants me alive.”

Assembled grumbling confirmed that theory. Meg reached for Cas’ hand and tried to take it from him. He frowned at her.

“Trust me?”

He was an idiot when it came to people. Meg knew that, and it made him better than anyone else she’d met. But it also meant two words would give her all the leverage she needed.

He passed her the gun. She pointed it up at him but not before decking Cas hard enough to knock him out. She picked up his hand and kissed his knuckles where she curled his fingers around hers. It was stupid and sentimental, but she did it anyway because if she was going to die, she might as well let herself have one moment like that.

“Sorry,” she muttered to him. “When this is all over, no hard feelings, right?”

She managed to shoot three of the men after her before they realized she’d gone on the offensive. Then one of the smarter ones hit her in the shoulder, and she dropped the gun while letting out a scream of pain.

And then they had her. Mercifully, she was knocked out so she didn’t have long to spend thinking on just how much her shoulder hurt.

***

When she woke up, she was in a basement, hair bleached blonde (because as Crowley had so nicely informed her, he’d heard just how much the idea had annoyed her and thought it would be fun), hands shackled together behind her back. She didn’t know how much time she spent in the dark damp room, hoping they would give her something to eat every once in a while (because Crowley wanted her alive; she was his fucking example to everyone else of what happened if you messed with the “king”).

It had to be weeks. Meg wasn’t sure how long the current rate of trying to get her to cough up blood would give her, but she wasn’t optimistic. She fought back however, she could. Refusing to acknowledge them, baiting them, getting in a few hits when she could. It didn’t matter, but it was something to do.

And then one day she heard the familiar sound of boots coming down the stairs, and she braced herself for her daily reminder of the fact she was Crowley’s favorite chew toy. Instead she heard a soft sound of dismay. When she looked up, she might have grinned if not for her perpetually split lips.

“Aren’t you a little short for a storm trooper?” she asked him. His sigh at her antics was music to her ears. “You here just for me?”

Cas didn’t say a word as he freed Meg from her shackles and helped her to her feet. She was a little wobbly on her legs, but she could still walk fast enough to keep up with Cas as he led her through what appeared to be some kind of abandoned and creepy warehouse. Crowley always had such lovely taste, she thought to herself sarcastically.

They didn’t stop moving until they were miles away and Cas stopped so he could stop some of Meg’s bleeding. He was unrelentingly gentle, and she couldn’t make sense of it after so long spent being kicked for pointing out the food they brought her was rotting.

“Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?” she asked him as he worked. His hands stalled and he looked up at her, expression torn between an irritated concern and something a little bit lost.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “We need to get you to a hospital. I’ve talked with WitSec, and we have permission and funding to-“

“We?”

Cas stuttered to a stop, and finished bandaging what he could and started the car again, driving on in silence.

***

Meg got better.

Cas was around, but he didn’t bring up what he had before for a while. He kept busy, arranging things she wasn’t allowed to know about (because “she may be a victim, but she was still a criminal damn it” said Henrikson when she’d asked him).

She still managed to have her day in court too, all covered in bruises (and wasn’t that a hell of a look for the benefit of the jury). She wasn’t sure what good it would do though. Crowley might be on the list of names she’d given, but likely he’d bribed who he could to keep himself out of it. It’s not like she’d won anything.

She was just about to be released when Cas finally talked her through her options as far as keeping safe were concerned. He went through each one mechanically and then finally cleared his throat and started in on a speech as though he’d prepared it a million times or two.

“I could accompany you,” he finished, after all but laying it out in those exact words. “If you wanted.”

“Sure Cas, I’ll run away with you,” said Meg. She snorted at how disconcerted he was to have it put like that. “Are you going to fake propose before we’re fake married this time?”

***

It was quiet.

It had been for years.

Meg sat on a couch in an apartment in a city she could care less about, but it was raining outside and she was watching a dumb tv show while Cas rubbed her feet, his very real wedding ring cold against the sole of her foot, and she couldn’t think of any other place she wanted to be.


End file.
